Not who you thought I was
by FireyFreedom
Summary: Sherlock thought he knew everything about John, how wrong he was.  Sherlock/John
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock easily tolerated John Watson's idiosyncrasies; after all, his were so much worse. Sherlock Holmes thought he knew everything about his new flat mate. Sherlock Holmes as wrong on both counts

It was 3 a.m. when the call came in. Sherlock was still wired after their latest case, but John had gone off to bed, citing a need for sleep.

John was fast asleep, for once not dreaming of the war when he heard it, worming its way into his brain. Whenever his phone rang in _that _tone, it always jolted John, and this time was no different. The ex-army medic leaped out of bed and fumbled for his phone, his left hand steady he pressed the button.

"John how fast can you get down here?"

He hadn't heard that voice since just before he left for Afghanistan, memory hadn't exaggerated for him.

"Ten minutes."

"Good, you know the place." Why was there amusement in that voice?

John hurried to dress, wondering what he was going to tell his omniscient flat mate.

Sherlock looked up as, just seconds after the call ended, John came down stairs. His grey-blue eyes catalogued.

John was impeccably dressed, the jumper of higher quality than what he normally wore, he was wearing boots Sherlock wasn't aware the other man owned. The boots were well worn in and had seen a lot of work.

John looked wide awake.

John's hand was steady, his limp nowhere in sight.

Sherlock frowned to himself, it didn't add up. John was dressed nicely, as if he were going to go see someone who expected him to wear nice clothes, but he was steadied for combat.

Knowing that Sherlock had seen and deduced something John said the first thing that came to mind, "An old friend from before the army called, impatient sort."

"I see, and you normally wake up at 3 a.m. to answer to his call?"

"Yes."

And John was out the door, leaving Sherlock behind, frowning.


	2. Chapter 2

John moved quickly, skirting any and all CCTV cameras, taking the back ways and eventually found himself outside of a brightly lit club in Soho. Going to the front of the queue John smiled at Tim, the security guard.

"I was called for."

Tim's eyes widened in surprise, "Long time no see! But you're here on the quiet right?"

"I wasn't told either way, so let's go quiet for now."

Tim nodded and waved him through, "Stop by for a drink yeah?"

John nodded, but without much heart. Honestly if the call hadn't been made by who it was from, he wouldn't be here at all.

The inside of the club was bright and throbbed with bass music. John's phone buzzed with a text and he looked at it, already knowing who it was from.

_Don't go inside, come to the bar, you know the spot. Blood_

John made his way to the darkest corner of the bar.

"Strike, it's been awhile." Blood stood, always graceful, and hugged him. "Please sit, what would you like?"

"Don't you already know?" John couldn't help the teasing tone.

Blood laughed, "Perhaps your taste in mundane drinks has changed since last I saw you."

"It hasn't"

Blood grinned and ordered one rum, but got nothing. John sipped on his drink.

"Why did you call me here?"

"Setson's dead."

John gaped, "Tell me this is a bad joke."

"Its not. Stetson's dead, They want you to take his place, well you or me, and I'm not very respectable." Blood grinned.

"Neither am I."

"True, but it has to be one of us, otherwise the blue's will get that seat, and no one wants that."

"They've gotten worse?"

"Its war, maybe not open, but definitely war."

"Was it the blue's that killed Stetson?"

"This is where it gets interesting. Stetson was killed with a .45 caliber semi-automatic pistol. It was a professional hit by mundanes."

John whistled, "Anything else to mark the crime as interesting?"

"Yeah, there was a tag left in yellow spray paint, some kind of symbol."

John sighed, with his luck Sherlock would get called onto that case. But the point remained he didn't want Stetson's seat. "I can't take Stetson's seat. I want out, I've been out. I wouldn't have come if anyone else had called."

"I know, butStrike, I need my wings, I can't be clipped by a seat, They won't let me keep my network, and you and I both know that if that goes the blues will over run us."

"I know," John sighed, "I don't suppose we could share the damn seat?"

He meant it in jest but Blood's eyes lit up with a light he knew all too well, "Perhaps, that might work."

"Blood?"

"I might have a way around the Covenant, but it'll take some worming, for now, They're looking for someone to hound Stetson's killers, and no doubt we are on the top of Their list."

"Thanks for the warning." John stood up.

Blood smiled up at him, "Be good and all the rot."

John slid back out of the club, not looking back.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock heard John's footsteps coming back up the stairs, heavier than when he left, but no sign of the limp. The other man had been gone just over half an hour, so the meeting lasted approximately twenty minutes. The news had been bad, or at least not good.

John entered, throwing a smile at his flat mate, who was sprawled along the couch.

"What is the bad news?"

John was saved from having to answer by a text from Lestrade. Sherlock sighed, "There's been a hit a few blocks over, some sort of tag on it, Lestrade wants me to have a look."

"You aren't going." John knew the other man well enough to know he'd think it boring.

"Of course not, it's straight forward."

John shrugged, but Sherlock's phone beeped again. At his flat mate's sneer he knew it was from Mycroft, "Apparently my brother also wants me to take the case."

John shrugged and headed upstairs hoping to get a few hours' sleep before Sherlock changed his mind and went after the case.

Sure enough, the next morning when John came downstairs Sherlock was talking to D.I. Lestrade, who was asking him to come over and have a quick look.

"Hello John."

"Hello Greg."

"John, tell him it will be boring."

Obediently John turned towards the policeman, "It will be boring."

Lestrade threw his hands up, "Are you his mimic now?"

"No, but I have to live with him."

Sherlock turned to look at his best friend and saw the teasing light in the other man's eyes, showing that it was all in jest.

"But we need him."

John sighed, "Sherlock, why don't we go, if you can figure it out in say, ten minutes we don't wake the case, but if you go over ten we do?"

The other two men stared at John.

"Do you realize how childish that is?"

"Says you Sherlock."

"Sherlock."

Ganged up on by both the D.I. and John, Sherlock gave up. "Alright, we'll follow you to the scene."

John hummed in triumph and then went to get his coat. The crime scene was probably Stetson's, which meant that whoever was told to hound the killer would run into him. John smiled dully to himself, and to think he'd thought he was out for good.

It was Stetson's. John had seen many of his friends die; the army was conducive to death, and hell he'd been there when his own teacher had been killed. It was only those memories that kept him from reacting to seeing the body of his longtime friend.

Stetson was lying face up, blood pooled underneath him from the five bullet holes in his chest. He green eyes were glassy. While Sherlock swooped around the crime scene making deductions, John took his friend's method and added his own knowledge.

Stetson was wearing mundane clothes, but also wearing his signet ring.

His face showed no signs of shock.

The bullet's had all entered from the back.

There was no trace of anything or anyone but the mundanes.

So, Stetson was meeting a mundane here, not expecting anything, he hadn't set up any precautions. But he was shot in the back, assassination style.

"John." Sherlock's voice was tense, he was looking at the tag.

John looked over his shoulder, "It's the same paint from the triads?" he guessed.

Sherlock nodded.

John looked at the rune, it appeared to be a cross between Strengthening Fear, and some other rune he couldn't put a name to, but looked Asian.

"Can you make anything of the tag?" Lestrade was nicely oblivious to the new tension in the room.

Sherlock shook his head, "It's a blend of two runes, but that's all I know."

While Sherlock continued to spout things pertinent to the case, John moved to the window.

Stetson had been killed in an abandoned office on the second floor of building only a few blocks from 221 B. John mentally scanned the area for any sweepers, but found none. Not surprising, but what was surprising was when _that_ ringtone started on his phone.

Sherlock turned to face John as soon as he heard the ringtone from last night. Lestrade shot him a look, but Sherlock was more interested in John's old friend, and hearing John speak to said friend. Sadly John moved out of ear shot and turned away, preventing Sherlock from doing anything more than analyzing his friend's posture and responses.

"Hello."

"Strike, what the hell are you doing at the scene?"

"It's a long story Blood."

"Make it short bitch, They are furious. Bloodhounds don't get involved with mundanes you idiot and now everyone's wondering what the fuck you're thinking and if the war might have actually unhinged you." Blood sounded a bit rushed.

"You got the call that I came here first didn't you."

"Yeah, I had some of mine watching the scene, by the way, were you aware that you were tailed by a group of government mundies to the scene?"

John cursed Mycroft under his breath and fought not to react in any way Sherlock might detect.

Sherlock noted that John was purposely concealing his reactions.

"Okay, so here's the story" John spoke quickly, leaving out big details, and told Blood about Sherlock, Lestrade and what he was doing there.

"Strike, that is the damn most amazing thing I have ever heard come out of your mouth. You mean someone else actually noticed your little addiction?"

"Wait, how did you?" In his surprise John had raised his voice loud enough for both Lestrade and Sherlock to hear.

Lestrade raised an eyebrow, he heard people say that about Sherlock, a brief prayer that John didn't know another brilliant sociopath crossed his mind.

"You knew?"

"Of course I knew Strike, it was obvious as the dead freakin' bodies. Now, we need to talk, in person, does your flat mate need you, or can we meet up at yours?"

"I'm sure I can meet you at 221 B, but why there?"

"My place is bugged and monitored by Them, but They haven't found you yet. WE should probably set up wards to keep Them away from your place."

"Alright, I'll meet you there in five."

"Your friend is coming to the flat." From Sherlock it was a statement.

"Yeah, sorry. DO you need me here?"

"No we'll be find, just make sure he doesn't mess anything up."

John nodded and gave the D.I. an apologetic smile, before walking off.

"His friend?"

"Apparently a friend from before the war, he and John have a history, John went to go see the friend at 3 a.m. last night, " and no Sherlock was absolutely not jealous that John hadn't even protested, "he must have been busy not to get in touch with John before, or respecting John's wishes."

Lestrade watched as the consulting detective tried to pick John's motives apart. The man shrugged, what the good doctor did on his own time was none of Greg's business.

John must have made a choice to distance himself from this friend, or more likely, other associates of the friend. Sherlock frowned, John had managed to create quite the puzzle

**Done! Finally! Thank you for the wonderful feedback everyone!**


	4. Chapter 4

Blood was standing by the door black in a black trench coat, looking cold. "How'd you get here so fast?"

"Well, I was already on my way when I called, and I don't live very far from here."

"Still living in the underground palace?"

Blood laughed dryly, "No I was kicked out for helping you go off to war. But Zestle gave me a room."

John shook his head, "How exactly did They get you under surveillance there?"

"They didn't, but They were going to take me off hounding duty if I stayed with him, so I moved out into the underground where They could keep an eye on me."

"You went to the dorms?"

"Hell no, staying with an old friend of ours."

They were inside by this time, and John groaned, "Not Jeff."

Blood shrugged, "I needed a place to stay."

"You do realize he's probably the one that put you under surveillance."

"Duh," Blood looked around the living room with a raised eyebrow, "Homey."

John shrugged, "You might as well come upstairs, it's the easiest place to set up wards from."

"Good, I brought supplies."

"Where exactly?" John asked, eyeing the trench coat and close fitting shirt and pants underneath it.

Blood grinned, "It's a new trick of mine, I'll show you when we get upstairs."

John watched in fascination as blood pulled five candles a stick of charcoal and a rather large container of what everyone affectionately called Goup out of the trench coat pockets.

The trench then found itself thrown carelessly onto John's bed. "Right, we're not doing a standard warding are we?"

Blood shrugged, "Pretty standard for our old place, but we'd probably be good to make it stronger, especially with the blue's going around and Them after you to take Stetson's seat."

"You need to move somewhere warded." John told his friend as he took one of the charcoal sticks.

Blood shrugged while setting the candles up in the five pointed star, "The only place I could go and be warded is here."

"Then why not move in, you could share with me."

Blood and John both froze at that. "Shouldn't you ask what's his name, Sherlock before inviting me to live?"

John turned away, "Probably, but I can't see him having much of a problem with it."

"Your landlady?"

John bit his lip, "She said all kinds."

"Strike, I doubt she meant our kind, but if you think we won't give her a heart attack and Sherlock will be fine with it, I'll move in."

That decided Blood and John moved around the room drawing some runes in with charcoal before connecting them to lines moving downstairs. John went around the building while Blood did the windows. Then they took Goup and drew in the power structure. When everything was done just so they knelt outside the candles joining hands they began to chant, softly, "Soul na ballaí thesse sciath Dóiteáin in iúl gan aon namhaid a éisteacht nó a fheiceáil cad a rá linn agus iad sin a dhéanamh laistigh de nó smaoineamh. Lig nach tine ná uisce ná talamh ná an aeir a lorg chun dochar dúinn. Dún do na ballaí an taobh amuigh." (It's Gaelic folks)

The runes and lines on the floor sprang to life, seeping into the essence of the house. When it was all over the room was slightly warmer, but there was no sign of the charcoal and Goup.

Blood stood and stretched, "I might as well go grab all my things while we have the time, I can check the walls as I go."

John nodded, "I'll get things set up here."

Lestrade ended up following Sherlock back to the flat, arguing about evidence. There were low voices coming from John's bedroom, and Sherlock just called up, "We're back."

John came downstairs, "We?"

Lestrade nodded to the other man, "Yeah."

Sherlock looked at John closely, "Your friend is moving in?"

John looked down, "Well Mrs. Hudson met Blood when we were bringing the things in and she said it would be fine. Blood can share my room."

Sherlock shrugged it off, he was not jealous and his heart did not ache, "Its fine will we get to meet the elusive Blood?"

Just then there was a loud bang and John winced, "Blood what did you do."

"I broke it"

"I'm going to kill you, come downstairs and say hi, then we'll fix my gun."

Sherlock and Lestrade looked at John with raised eyebrows as the ex-soldier moved into the kitchen.

"You let him touch your gun?" Lestrade asked.

"Maybe not the smartest idea, but Blood was at least unlikely to shoot me."

"Don't count on it."

John had the unaccustomed pleasure to see Sherlock jump in surprise and turn to face Blood who was standing just inside the door way. He also got to see both Lestrade and Sherlock's jaws drop in shock.

"By the way, Blood's a girl."

**BWAHAHAHAHAHA… Yeah I was leading up to that this whole time. Another chapter for you all, I hope you enjoyed!**


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock was gaping as John told him what was now startlingly obvious. Blood was a girl. That made no sense, John didn't react to her like he reacted to other women, he treated her like a comrade, almost like he treated Sherlock. [Sherlock was still not jealous] He quickly started to deduce how he could have messed up on that. Granted Blood does sound like a masculine nickname, but still.

Lestrade started to stutter apologies, but Blood waved them off, "Don't worry about it, its common enough when people don't meet me face to face. Apparently I come off as masculine."

"You do." John chimed in.

"Whatever, anyway, Arianrhod is my actual name, Arianrhod Dragonmier, you can see why I chose a nickname."

"Why were you named after the 'high fruitful mother'?" Sherlock asked.

"Why am I not surprised you know where her name came from?" John asked.

"Because he's a self-diagnosed sociopath and genius."

"Okay, I told you about the genius, but how did you get the other part?"

Lestrade groaned, Blood was another one.

"Tricks of the trade."

Sherlock noted how John relaxed as Blood said that, obviously it meant something.

"My mother was in the middle of a flight of fancy, apparently I was supposed to go on to produce seven sons or some such thing."

"Well your mother had seven children, all sons but you; I guess you were meant to actually get to wonderful number."

Blood stuck her tongue out at John, "Like I'm ever going to have children, much less that many."

"Right, Blood how old are you?" Lestrade asked, narrowing his eyes.

"21, why?"

"Just, it's really none of my business, but you're sharing with John?"

Sherlock didn't care if they had sex as long as they didn't disturb him [he told himself], but John and Blood both frowned, understanding what the inspector was asking.

"Mrs. Hudson leant us another mattress, we haven't settled whose sleeping on the floor, but someone will be, Blood's like my little sister."

Blood nodded, tossing her hair [mid back length, black with natural red highlights]. Sherlock finally got over his mistake with her gender and started cataloguing.

Blood was about the same height as John, but wearing three inch heeled boots.

She'd gotten downstairs silently, Sherlock hadn't even noticed her decent.

Her arms were crossed in front of her chest.

Her shirt was black button up, good material, but not brand name. Her pants were black leather well-fitting but not overly tight.

She was thin, but had relatively wide hips and larger breasts than one would expect on someone with waist and rib cage that small.

She wasn't wearing any make up and her hair was loose down her back.

Sherlock stopped when he got to Blood's eyes. They were the same unnatural tawny color that John's were.

"Are the two of you related?"

Lestrade started looking between the two, but they were already shaking their heads, "We get that a lot, what with the weird eye color, but no we aren't, or if we are, it's so far back no one remember it."

Sherlock nodded, so Blood was at least eighteen, but definitely not 21, she's used to lying, comfortable with John, but not with himself or Lestrade so trust issues. Black circles under her eyes say she's not getting enough sleep.

"Did John explain what living here entails?"

"If you mean he told me about the experiments, the violin, the cases, the odd hours, you not talking, the body parts and there never being any milk, then yes he told me. Did I mention I can cook?"

"She really can."

Sherlock nodded, "Welcome to 221 B , Arianrhod Dragonmier"

Lestrade decided that now was time for him to leave, "Welcome indeed, you prefer Blood, right?"

"Yeah, but really whatever you come up with to call me is fine."

The D.I. nodded, making a mental note to add Blood to the list of 'people not police allowed on crime scenes'. That list currently only included Sherlock John and Blood; there must be something about 221 B.

After Lestrade was safely gone and John was rustling around in the kitchen for tea, Sherlock turned to the newest flat mate and asked, "You aren't 21, you're 18, why lie to the inspector?"

"Because I'm actually 17, and I knew that he was already thinking I was sleeping with John, and I should technically be in school, so I wanted to avoid those conversations."

Sherlock nodded and threw himself down on the couch, mind going back to the murder. John came out of the kitchen and distributed tea, sitting down on his arm chair. Blood carefully set her tea down, then somehow managed to curl around the back or the arm chair, balancing on the thin edge, and took up her tea again.

"Maybe I should start calling you kitten." John muttered.

"Do it and die."

**Holy crow… thanks for all the reviews… apparently if you hit people with surprises they want to talk! I'm currently still wading through all the reviews, so thank you to everyone and I will hopefully manage to reply to you all. NO big surprises this time, but we'll be getting back to the murder next chapter.**


	6. Chapter 6

It was 3 a.m. again at 221 B, and Sherlock was awake, laying on the sofa and staring at the ceiling, thinking over the hit. He was also [NOT] looking at the ceiling where John's bedroom was. Which John and Blood were in. Alone. But not having sex, if both of them could be believed. Truthfully, Sherlock was sure they weren't and he wasn't jealous.

Right the hit, there was little to go on. They didn't even know the stiff's name. Obviously the man had gone to that place to meet someone he knew. He'd been betrayed, but other than that there had been nothing. Even what the man wore was a puzzle. He'd been wearing clothes obviously chosen to be absolutely normal and unremarkable. They hadn't been at all personalized, in fact had probably been bought specifically for that meeting.

That left Sherlock in a surprising position. He'd searched for a way to decode the tag and come up with nothing. Even three nicotine patches hadn't helped, and he was debating a forth when he suddenly became aware of another person in the room.

Blood was peering at him through obviously tired eyes. "Did I disturb you?" She asked when he looked over at her, voice low.

"I was thinking."

The girl nodded, "I just came down for a cup of something hot and caffeinated, if I'm going to disturb you should I stay in the kitchen?"

"Are you not sleeping?"

Blood shook her head ruefully, "I don't sleep well, and sometimes I go for a while without sleep. But I don't want to disturb John, I tend to get restless on long nights, so I came downstairs."

Sherlock nodded, "It's cold in the kitchen, you're welcome to stay in here."

Blood nodded and moved into the kitchen, returning with two cups, by the smell one was coffee heavily flavored with milk, the other tea.

Sherlock took the tea from her with a surprised nod, it was made the way he always liked it. Blood sat sideways in John's armchair, feet over one arm, snuggling back against the other and cupped her drink.

Silence settled over the two, Sherlock looked her over, trying to figure out her particular demons. She bore no other signs of PTSD, or any other traumatic experience. She might not be easy with Sherlock or Lestrade, but she obviously trusted John, so it wasn't her trust issues. Blood's hands gripped the mug tighter, "What have you figured out Mr. Holmes?"

Ah there it was, her voice was light, teasing, her head tilted toward him perfectly relaxed, her tawny eyes betraying nothing, but her hands gripping the mug were white knuckled. There was some stress there, some tension. "You've had several traumatic experiences, all relatively close together without any one to count on. You trust John, perhaps you trust him the most, but you still fight to be independent because…" Sherlock hesitated, suddenly aware of why people hated him.

"You're correct, please go on, I'm not going to be offended or storm out or gripe at John, not when I went and asked you myself."

"Well there's two reasons as to why you might feel the need to be independent and both stem from your family. Jon said you were the youngest of seven siblings and the only girl, you mentioned that your mother wanted you to grow up and marry and have seven children of your own. Obviously you aren't planning on that course of action, so you've felt family pressure to live up to expectations. You probably pretended to go along with it for a while, but then drew the line and were either left of kicked out. I'd say you were always measure up to your other siblings and so felt the need to prove yourself, not in the normal sibling rivalry, but to prove that you could be yourself and be successful without relying on your family or their life choices."

Blood's grip on the coffee relaxed and she toasted him with it. "Pretty much spot on, amazing, may I ask how you figured it out?"

"Well, I'll start with the trust issues, when you came downstairs today your arms were folded across your chest in a defensive manner and you never put your back to either of us. With John you allowed him into your personal space and relaxed the defensiveness of your stance, so you trust him but not us. From the way John left to see you at three in the morning there's obviously history between you two, so it's easy to assume that you don't trust easily.

You're living with us at seventeen, and have obviously haven't lived at home for a while, thus you either left or were thrown out."

"You're avoiding the trauma and how you figured it out." Blood's voice was gentle.

Sherlock shook his head, "I have often been told I'm insensitive, but you manage your every expression, even with John, so you have something to hide. We've established that you trust him, so you feel the need to be independent, he probably knows your family, so despite trusting him you still have something to prove. The trauma had to have happened starting when you were young, probably around the time your family started being a problem, and continued regularly until you became desensitized. Normally one would assume abuse, from the way you hold yourself probably sexual, but I'd say you've probably been around a few crime scenes. You've seen horrors similar to war, and have dealt with them by simply refusing to care."

"Amazing." Blood breathed.

Sherlock tilted his head, "John said something similar, but usually people are a lot more hateful when I drag up their past."

"You see very clearly, and as you said I manage every expression, I like to know what I did wrong to tip you off." Blood shook her head, "It's rare for someone to see all that. I did ask for it."

Sherlock nodded and lay back down, "What I can't figure out is why you can't sleep."

Blood made a questioning sound.

"Well, you've desensitized yourself to violence, so I don't think it's nightmares, it's not being in a new house or close to people, you trust John, so what keeps you up?"

Blood was silent for a while, "John's addicted to danger, to the adrenaline rush. It's similar to me. I love to push my body and mind far beyond where I should stop. So when I get down time my whole being is keyed up, I don't really know how to rest, when I do sleep, its fitful, I'm always wanting to move, to be doing something. But no, I rarely have nightmares."

When John stumbled downstairs the next morning he saw a very strange sight, Sherlock lay prone on the sofa with his hands pressed together under his chin, staring up into the ceiling, and Blood was curled up in the arm chair, typing on her laptop.

"Good morning."

"Morning John, sleep well?"

"Well enough."

Blood nodded, everyone there knew John was lying.

"Hungry?"

Blood shrugged, Sherlock remained motionless, trying to figure out the tag.

"Alright, I've got to work at the surgery, anyone need anything from the store?"

"Nope."

"Right." John left shaking his head in puzzlement.

The day passed quietly for everyone in 221 B, Blood spent it on her laptop, Sherlock remained prone.

John came home to the smell of chicken, wonderful chicken. Blood was in the kitchen hovering over pans which were the source of the wonderful smell.

"You are a heaven send Blood." John grinned at her.

"I knew you kept me around for a reason."

"And here I thought it was for your brain."

Blood laughed and swatted at John who dodged and went into the living room, not at all surprised to see Sherlock still stretched out on the couch.

"Welcome home John, how was work?"

"Boring, anything new on the case?"

Sherlock cracked open an eye lid to look at the ex-soldier, "I need to figure out the tag left on the crime scene."

John nodded, "Any luck?"

"No."

Blood poked her head in, "Dinner's ready whenever anyone wants it, but if you two want to talk for a while it will save."

John looked at Sherlock who was sitting up, "Might as well eat if you're ready John."

John nodded, and the three soon found themselves seated around the kitchen table bunched closely together due to the experiments taking up half the table.

"About the tag, it's the same paint from the Blind Banker right?"

Sherlock nodded to John's question. The older man hummed to himself, chewing thoughtfully.

"Could it be Moriarty?"

Sherlock stiffened, nearly dropping his fork. After the disaster at the swimming pool, Moriarty had disappeared off of the map. "What makes you think that?"

"Moriarty is well versed in our movements, he would have known about the Blind Banker case, and this does look suspiciously like the killers are playing a game with us."

Blood tilted her head, eyes darting back and forth between the two men. "Who the fuck is Moriarty?"

John sighed, "It's a long story."

"Tell me anyway."

And John told her, with Sherlock filling details in. Blood sat thoughtfully through it all, only raising an eyebrow when they came to Moriarty's promise.

"'I will burn the heart out of you'? That's very melodramatic."

John nodded, "He's a dramatic man."

"But brilliant."

"That to."

The three were silent, until Sherlock said quietly, "Somehow I don't think this will change anything, but you do realize he could go after Blood now."

Sherlock watched both faces carefully. John was usually very protective, and with anyone else he would have immediately shown a myriad of emotions. With Blood, he shrugged, "It's her decision whether to stay or go."

Blood snorted, "I'm staying."

Sherlock nodded, not very surprised, John trusted in Blood's ability to take care of herself. Interesting, but it shed another light on their past.

"Have you two considered how he'll target your 'hearts'?"

"Last time he went after random people to make us dance, perhaps he'll follow the same pattern."

Blood and Sherlock shook their heads at the same time. "No way, patterns make you easier to catch." Blood told John, standing up and taking her plate to the sink. "Think about it, if this hit was done by Moriarty you might want to consider finding out what he considers your hearts to be. You two can wash up."

That night John walked into his bedroom to see Blood sitting on the bed, {they still hadn't figured out who was sleeping where} looking at him. "Is Moriarty a blue?"

John sighed, shutting the door behind him and sitting across from her on the bed. "I don't think so. If he was he would have certainly known about me, but he didn't."

"Is it likely that he's behind Stetson's death?"

"It's entirely possible that the paint is just a coincidence"

"So it's also a coincidence that he threated to burn the heart out of you?"

"If he's mundane how could he possibly realize what that meant? Relax."

Blood shrugged, "Something feels off, anyway I'm going into town to see what poor bastards get to hound Stetson's case."

"Be careful."

"Duh."

**Yes my doves it is another chapter! This one took forever… and we didn't actually get back to the murder yet… oops.**


	7. Chapter 7

Blood didn't come back that night. John wandered downstairs around 3 [had that become the new witching hour?] but didn't seem concerned.

Lestrade showed up at the flat bright and early.

"Another hit?" Sherlock asked frowning.

Lestrade nodded, "You coming?"

"Yes, where is it?"

Lestrade told them and both John and Sherlock frowned, "That's rather close to here again."

"New hit?" Blood asked bounding up into the living room, swerving around the D.I. in a manner that was either graceful or not, depending on which side of the room you looked from.

"Yeah, want to come?" Sherlock asked.

Now Lestrade had been slightly prepared for Blood to start showing up at crime scenes, but he hadn't expected Sherlock to ask.

"Sure why not, I have nothing better to do anyway."

Greg and Sherlock missed the look John shot the girl.

"Who's the new one?" Donovan asked as the group of four wandered up to the police tape.

"The name's Blood, I'm here to sanity check, don't mind me." Blood smiled at the older woman, hand extended for a shake.

Donovan appeared rather flustered, but shook Blood's hand, "Sergeant Donovan, let me know if you need anything."

And without even a rude comment for Sherlock the woman let the group through.

"Extraordinary" Sherlock says blue eyes boring into Blood.

"How did you manage that?" Lestrade asks, completely puzzled.

"Oh it was easy, she just needed to think someone had put a leash on Sherlock, it helped that she was a little off balance from the name."

John chuckled, "Though really, if you're the one in charge of our sanity we're all screwed."

The group entered the crime scene, also an office building. Anderson turned towards them and immediately started complaining about Sherlock. The consulting detective stopped to argue with the man. Lestrade began to attempt to get the two men apart, and Blood wondered over to the body, pulling on a pair of gloves. John followed her.

"Fuck, its Jackal." Blood whispered, carefully lifting the body to see the face.

John's face tightened, before he wiped it clean. "Same hit team as last time, but they were shooting down, but there's no window over there."

It was true; Jackal had been facing the window. Blood stood up and wandered over; tracing the path the bullets must have taken in her mind. "Give us a hand up John."

"What are you two doing?" Donovan snapped, just coming into the room, diverting the three arguing men's attention over to John and Blood.

"There's a ledge built in here, this is where the shooters were hidden." Blood explained, tapping John's head.

The ex-soldier lowered her back to the floor. "It's too narrow for anyone to stand on, much less hide on." Anderson snapped, "We already knew about it."

Blood shook her head, "Then you missed the marks on the walls, they're from a harness of some kind. I'd say that the hit team was literally tied to the wall to keep them from falling."

Sherlock swoops towards the body, studying the man on the floor while Donovan gapes at Blood and John takes notes of the detective's deductions.

"Same tag as before." Lestrade notes pointing to the yellow spray paint on the wall.

"It looks Asian." Anderson comments inanely.

"Such brilliance" Blood mutters out of the side of her mouth, sending Donovan into giggles and causing John to raise an eyebrow.

"Well, I don't see you contributing anything about it." Anderson snaps, blushing red.

"Not surprising, considering you missed the marks on the wall and the footprint by the window."

The crime scene freezes as everyone looks where Blood's pointing. Sure enough there was a footprint there.

Sherlock moves over to it, studying and deducing faster than the rest of the world can keep up with.

"Bloody hell, I thought you went over the scene Anderson" Lestrade chided.

"It wasn't there before, neither were the marks I swear." The man stuttered.

"Oh maybe they were under an illusion." Donovan's voice was sweet and mocking.

Blood shot John a look, and tilted her head. The two moved over away from the group and Sherlock.

"There's Grammayre left on the walls, it's possible."

John nodded, "This gets weirder every moment. Who's hounding this one?"

"Two new kids, came in after you left for Afghanistan. Pretty good, but not this level."

The two looked over at the body of their mutual friend, "At least he wasn't one of Them this time, otherwise we'd both be fucked." John said at last, dismissing Jackal as yet another casualty.

"We may still be, he was a high ranking red, someone's killing them off, someone they all knew."

"A mundane, or someone who appeared to be a mundane."

"John, Blood, we're leaving." Sherlock calls [not jealous that John is talking to her in a hushed tone that says he's not invited to the conversation].

"Bloody child."

John swats Blood on the head, "Respect your elders".

The crime scene is frozen again and Sherlock's brain is whirling. John didn't hit people, not even in play, he always felt like the army had given him and unfair advantage. Blood's laughter broke the freeze, "You people act like you've never seen someone get slapped upside the head."

Her laughter broke the silence and everyone started moving again. Sherlock managed to arrange the group so that he was walking next to John. [He wasn't jealous; he just wanted to discuss the case.]

Blood saw the movement, and Lestrade noticed something dance across the girl's tawny eyes, some sort of hidden laughter. The inspector shook it off, 221 B seemed to attract the oddest of people.

The walk back to 221 B was silent. Sherlock was trying to fit all the pieces together, unknowingly joined by John and Blood. But the case wasn't the only thing on Blood's mind that night. Sherlock was jealous of her, or rather of her relationship with John. Never mind that John was more her brother than anyone else, Sherlock had, for the first time, seen someone who could rival his closeness with the doctor. Blood herself was content, even happy to see the relationship forming between the two men, she liked Sherlock.

At the flat Blood surprised both men when, instead of ordering takeaway, she managed to put together some decent spaghetti in the same amount of time.

Sherlock looked puzzled at the food poking it with his fork.

"Usually one uses the fork to eat the food, not mutilate it." Blood observed.

"I don't eat during a case, slows me down."

John sighed, it was an old argument. "You need the food to continue running your massive brain."

"Digesting slows down the thinking process."

"Fainting from hunger and sleep deprivation will do the same thing."

The two men went back and forth, Sherlock adamant that he would not eat, John equally sure that he would. Blood watched the two with a fond smile, which Sherlock noticed.

"Why are you smiling?"

John raised an eyebrow; Sherlock rarely asked such questions, usually managing to deduce the answer. Sure enough the taller man continued, "Obviously you find this conversation amusing."

"Yes, it's funny, but you act like such a child at times, refusing to see that your body needs certain things to continue." Blood smiled, eating her food innocently.

Sherlock ate half of his, admittedly small, plate of spaghetti having learned a valuable lesson: Blood was a superior manipulator. She might even match Mycroft, though further experimentation would be needed.

After everyone had finished, Blood began the dishes, leaving John and Sherlock alone in the living room.

"Something's off about this case."

John looked up from his paper, "Excuse me?"

Sherlock was frowning at a laptop screen, Blood's judging by the fact that John had never seen it before, and said, "Nothing adds up, who would hire hits on two men who don't even seem to have existed before they died. Perhaps an underground gang war?"

Sherlock was too busy looking at something on the laptop screen to notice John's faint wince, that was a little too close for comfort.

"Sod it all"

John jumped, Sherlock wasn't one to swear, or make such exclamations. The younger man was glaring at the laptop as if personally affronted by it. John imagined he could see the screen smoking from the force of the detectives glare.

"What is it?"

"I can't guess the password."

John couldn't help it, he laughed. He put his head in his hands and laughed. Really it was something closer to hysterics, because honestly the only part of Blood Sherlock hadn't dismantled was the magical part, and really, between the hits and both Blood and John in the same house, Sherlock was going to find them out.

Blood came into the living room, looking perplexed, but then she saw her laptop. "Why are you attempting to use my laptop?"

John suddenly cut off laughing, Blood was picky about her laptop, and most anything she would actually write on. Then another thought struck him, which a quick glance at Blood confirmed: there was research Sherlock did NOT need to see on the computer.

Sherlock had quickly picked up on the 'not good' vibe coming off the two. "Bit not good?"

John nodded, eyeing Blood, "Blood's laptop is off limits, yeah?"

Sherlock looked between the two.

Blood has things on her laptop he's not supposed to see, but more than that she has personal things. A new fold of both Sherlock's flat mate's characters unfolded as he gently shut the laptop and put it down, padding into his own room.

Sherlock emerged to see Blood once again curled around the top of the arm chair, looking over John's shoulder as the soldier looked at something on her laptop.

How she managed to remain perfectly balanced was an interesting mystery, after all, it's not like there was a lot of room. Silence reigned in the flat, Sherlock searched for the runes, and, unbeknownst to the detective, John and Blood did the same thing.

An hour later Blood's cell phone rang and she twisted in a movement that made Sherlock wince to get her phone out of her coat without actually leaving the arm chair.

"Yeah?"

"No, we're fine."

"Why?"

John looked up as Blood muttered a curse, Sherlock just ignored her, to focused on the case at hand. Blood hung up a few minutes later, "I'll be back, play nicely while I'm gone."

Blood walked down the back streets quickly, masking herself from prying eyes with a subconscious thought. Her contact was sitting on a cold bench far away from the fires of the other homeless people.

"Blood, thank you for coming on such short notice."

Blood smiled and shook the proffered hand, "You have news?"

John sighed, shutting Blood's laptop, she had the most extensive database on runes, but only she fully knew how to work it, and besides, runes weren't either of their specialties. "Tea?"

Sherlock nodded absently, still busy doing who knows what.

John puttered around in the kitchen making the tea. When he brought it back into the living room, Sherlock was looking up at him, storm colored eyes looking at him intently.

"How long have you known Blood?"

John paused, "What?"

"Nothing, never mind." But those eyes were still suspicious.

John sighed, Sherlock was already figuring out the mystery. He hoped Blood found a way around the covenant so nothing bad happened, mundanes who found out weren't exactly welcomed with open arms.

**AHHHHHHHHHHHHH Blood was taking over, I'm trying to shift focus back to John and Sherlock. Thank you all my lovely reviewers! You make my day!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Anonymous Reviews:**

**Smiles: **Yes Sherlock has to be a mundane, it will become clear why later

You will find out the background around the same time Sherlock does, because that's the way the story goes.

Mycroft doesn't know

Blood was always female, I wanted to see if anyone would catch it. There are reasons for the separate personality thing, it will become apparent, she is not meant to birth a sorcerer, there's another reason for the seven of seven thing.

Details will come, but the whole point of the story will be Sherlock finding them out while solving the murder. I haven't put them in yet because they aren't meant to be there yet. They will come I promise.

I don't know who is in the details, probably both God and the devil… but they're coming I promise.

Sherlock was still trying to figure out John and Blood, he understood that they shared a brother/sister relationship, and that they'd known each other for a very long time, long enough for each to become totally comfortable with each other.

John wasn't a touchy man, which was fine with Sherlock, and easily noted by others. But, like most everything else, that went out the window with Blood.

Sherlock first noticed the day after Blood had gone to meet her friend. She'd been downstairs reading something with her hair down. She kept flicking it out of her face, and it was starting to annoy Sherlock. John, back from work, took one look in the living room and went upstairs, returning with a brush and some sort of hair clip. The ex-soldier brushed out the teen's hair, twisted it from the nape to the ends, flipped it back onto her head and slid the clip into it. Blood reached up and flicked his arm, which was apparently a thank you.

There were other things, Blood knew how to make John's tea, even in his different moods, though to be fair, she knew how to make Sherlock's as well. Blood often poked John, and John would occasionally sneak up behind her. The purpose of that evaded Sherlock, as he well knew that Blood could hear John coming.

Blood went out a few days later, and came home with a load of school books.

"What's all that?" John asked, looking up from the newspaper he hadn't gotten to read that morning.

"School work, I've got a system worked out with the University, its homeschooling for college" Blood glared at the books as if it was their fault she had to have schooling.

John laughed good naturedly. "It can't be that bad."

"I abhor the way they teach English, Physics hates me, and Calculus and I share a love hate relationship wherein I hate doing it and it loves to torment me."

Sherlock snorted.

Blood glared at him and he retreated back to focusing on his experiment.

"Those the only classes you're taking?"

"No I'm also doing advance Psychology, International Relations, and Latin for fun."

John and Sherlock both stared at her. "For fun?"

Blood smiled, "Well, Sherlock likes dead bodies, John likes adrenaline; I like politics, languages and diplomacy."

"Your version of diplomacy is yell loudly and hit them with a big stick until they cooperate." John deadpanned.

"Not always" Blood cried, looking affronted while still managing a smirk. Sherlock spared a moment to wonder how she did that without looking ridiculous. 

And so another little routine worked its way into life at 221 B. Blood often spent the morning studying, Sherlock remained impressed with her vocabulary of swear words and frustrated mutterings. John always found an excuse to put Blood's hair up before he left, Sherlock assumed it was some sort of ritual of them, the same way Blood always made him and John clean up. (He WASN'T jealous).

Sherlock continued to study the two's reactions, in between murder cases. The two hits remained on going, while the three took on new cases. Blood was funny, and served to start a bit of healing between Donovan and Sherlock. Donovan seemed a bit in awe of her, while Anderson remained… less than loving.

Lestrade tolerated her, but while John would chase Sherlock, and lecture him, if Sherlock ran off, Blood often disappeared. Sherlock had a feeling that this meant something, but even he could admit that he wasn't the best with emotions.

One day, after a particularly grueling run through London, John came downstairs. Sherlock looked up from the sofa and felt Blood, who was stretched out on the back looking at his experiment, tense.

John turned to look at them, but Sherlock spoke before he could say anything, "Why are you tense? You slept well."

John shook his head, took one look at Blood and muttered something before heading out to work. Sherlock heard Blood growl profanities under her breath, but when pressed she just shrugged.

Sherlock had gone out after dinner and came home to an interesting tableau. Blood knelt on the couch, slowly working John's bad shoulder around, occasionally running her hands down the ex-soldier's back, arms or neck. She had a faintly annoyed look on her face and John looked chagrined.

"Next time just tell me the damn thing is sore, don't just deal with it."

"And how often do you tell me when you're sore?"

"That's different. My soreness does not stem from a bullet wound, nor do I neglect it if it might impede my ability to do my job."

John opened his mouth to retort, when he noticed Sherlock standing in the doorway with one eyebrow raised. "My wound was acting up." He muttered blushing.

Sherlock nodded, "And Blood knows how to deal with it?"

"Well enough, it's just needs a bit of loosening, but if it's not better tomorrow he'll be headed to a doctor." Bloods voice was matter of fact as she patted John on his good shoulder, shifting to lie on the couch.

Sherlock nodded, "Is he now?"

John snapped 'no' just as Blood said 'yes', Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Blood and John got into a staring contest, which Blood apparently won as John huffed and turned away. Sherlock nodded glaring at Blood until she moved to the top of the couch, leaving him to flop down in her place.

John sat down in his normal place, asking Blood about her school work, which of course led to a string of curse words, not all in English.

Sherlock fell asleep on the couch that night. It wasn't unusual, but the concerned face leaning over him and the finger poking his forehead when he woke up were very unusual.

"You finally slept!" Blood's voice was surprised and pleased.

Sherlock grunted, before looking around for John.

"He went to work, need anything?" Blood asked, jumping backwards and landing in her chair.

Sherlock sat up rubbing the back of his neck, "A new back would be good."

There was silence, and when the detective looked up in worry, Blood was considering him levelly, as if she were trying to decide something.

"I could help, if you want me to," she trailed off, looking away awkwardly.

Sherlock's heartbeat accelerated as he cocked his head, regarding the young woman who had walked into his life and made her home there. "Let me see your hands."

The girl gave him an odd look before handing her hands out to him, palms up. They were calloused on the palms, showing that Blood was used to working with her hands, probably not unfamiliar with weapons, more likely a sword or staff, not a gun. The texture of her skin was smooth as if she rubbed them with cream. The contradiction was like Blood herself.

She had her 'case voice' all business, foul mouthed no nonsense, like the callouses on her hands, it spoke of experience and pain. Then she came home and was manic, an over grown cat, the softer skin on the tops and fingers of her hands.

"You partition yourself away from your work. It's not just cases you've taken with John and myself, it was too automatic, you've done something similar before." Blood tensed, but Sherlock pressed on, "The partition helps you think, keeps you from focusing on the bad, and lets you see what you need to see."

"Yes."

"John does the same thing?"

"Something like that."

Sherlock nodded, "What do you mean by help?"

"Want a massage?"

Sherlock hated to be touched, but John trusted this woman-child in front of him. John who was fast becoming the most trusted person in Sherlock's life. John whom he trusted with his life.

"We can try."

Blood could see the thought process going through the genius' head. Trust issues, a wry smirk flitted through the girl's mind (yes facial expressions CAN be only in your mind), everyone currently living in 221 B had them. It had taken three years, shared abilities, and almost dying before she'd trusted John after all, and John had told her about his first day with the detective. It was time she showed Sherlock that she was willing to trust him.

The girl gestured for Sherlock to lay down on his front as she slid from her chair with her usual gracelessness. Blood carefully, not wanting to startle the genius, sat down straddling the older man, "We can stop at any time, okay, let me know if I push too hard, or too soft, or don't work the right muscles, ok?"

Sherlock nodded, taking a deep breath and trying to relax, it didn't help much.

Blood leaned forward over him, hands coming up to slowly squeeze at his shoulders, moving to smooth circles into knotted muscles. Sherlock felt himself purr, and relax, Blood was good at this.

Blood was careful to be just the right amount of gentle, carefully working at the muscles under her hands, touch meant to be soothing. She had to restrain a giggle when Sherlock started purring, the noise coming from his chest. It was just so cute.

The massage lasted around half an hour as Blood worked her way from Sherlock's neck to lower back, touch becoming firmer the farther down she got.

Sherlock wanted to bang his head against the floor when he became aware of a problem he hadn't had to deal with since his teenage years. He even felt his cheeks heat in a blush (A BLUSH!).

Sensing that something was wrong, Blood stopped, hands resting on either side of Sherlock's spine. "You okay?"

Sherlock shook his head, as best he could without actually picking his head. Blood moved off of him kneeling down to look at his face.

"Are you blushing?" Incredulous Blood tried to figure out what could have caused the cool man to blush. Nothing immediately came to mind. "What's wrong Sherlock?"

Sherlock grunted something unintelligible, trying to reign in his body. It didn't work, and when he tried to get up, Blood got a good look at his eyes.

"Oh." Her voice was soft.

Sherlock froze, cursing. He'd already guessed that Blood wasn't comfortable with strangers, especially strange males, probably had someone attempt to force affection on her to many times. Before he could apologize (how out of character was that?) Blood shook her head.

"Relax Sherlock. Its fine."

The detective sat up, self-consciously crossing his legs in front of himself, and cocked his head at her in silent question.

"It's not like I'm unfamiliar with the phenomenon. I would guess you probably haven't had all that much human contact, so it's not like I'm shocked. John and I have lived together for a very long time. We didn't always have two separate beds."

Blood looked away, falling into the past, and Sherlock, though burning to ask the millions of questions in his mind waited patiently. "I've had issues with men before, but I always trusted John. He's like my brother. Puberty was one of the times when separate beds were a luxury we couldn't afford, I figured out morning wood pretty quickly."

"That's John, not me." Sherlock pointed out, (not jealous, really).

"Might as well be. I trust John, John trust you, and that –" Blood pointed vaguely at Sherlock's groin, "Is not for me."

'What do you mean?"

Blood looked at the consulting detective in surprise, 'Are you really that thick? What were you thinking about during the massage? I bet I can guess and it wasn't me."

Sherlock felt his eyes widen and his face flame as he reviewed his thoughts. Damn it… he'd been wondering what it'd be like if John was the one touching him. Shit shit shit shit… "How did you-?"

The teenager shook her head, "It's as obvious as the nose on Anderson's face. You've been fighting jealousy of me, which is unbearably cute by the way, since I turned up. When John asks a question, no matter how annoyingly coy you were being before you answer, and your eyes light up when you look at him."

Sherlock hunched down, "I don't understand."

"What don't you understand?"

"John, these ridiculous feelings! I'm a sociopath, I don't have feelings. I'm married to my work, and I'm not jealous."

"Sure. I'm going to take a shower, you just keep telling yourself that." Blood grinned, eyes mischievous.

The detective narrowed his eyes at her. She was up to something. Then he noticed that Blood, who has always so careful to lock her computer down when she left the room had left it open with a word document up. Curiosity piqued, Sherlock walked over to it, and started reading.

Blood grinned to herself as she stepped into the shower, writing porn sometimes came in handy.

Sherlock's mouth felt dry and his erection certainly hadn't gone down any. Blood didn't seem like the type to write porn, but there was no other word for the… story on her computers.

"Still think you're married to your work?" Sherlock twisted to look at the teenager that had shoved her way into his life.

"I don't like people touching me." It was so obviously a stupid comment that Sherlock winced.

Blood just raised an eyebrow, "What if it were you and John in that story."

Sherlock glared as arousal pulsed through him.

"Look, you're good for him. John's always been attracted to danger. But never like he follows you. You're good for him."

"Some little sister you are."

"I want him to be happy. And you can make him so."

Sherlock nodded, "What if he doesn't feel the same way?"

"Nothing ventured nothing gained."

John came home to a quiet house. Sherlock stared at him. All evening. It was odd. When John shot Blood a puzzled glance, the girl was on her computer, frowning over something.

It wasn't until that night Blood even spoke. "We may be dealing with a runesmith."

"Fuck"

'Pretty much. I can't come up with any other option. No one knows anything about the damn rune we keep finding."

John sighed, this was news he didn't need, "What now?"

"You stop being a dumbass and fuck Sherlock."

"What?" John squawked, unable to comprehend the total non sequiter. "Where the fuck did that come from?"

"The fact that you're halfway in love with him." Blood was calm, golden eyes boring into her older brother's steadily.

"How did you-?"

"The way you look at him, the fact that you MOAN his name at night sometimes, and the fact that I know you."

John dropped his head in his hands, "He won't feel the same way."

Blood wanted to scream at her two flatmates… they were idiots."

"Try and see."

"He's mundane, and I'd have to tell him."

"so?"

"That's mildly illegal."

"We're mages hun, we'll find a way around that."

"He'd have to be my soul mate!" John snapped.

"I'm aware of the law John."

The soldier winced, of course Blood was far more aware of the law than he was. "I didn't mean that. I just, don't want him hurt."

Blood's eyes softened, 'I know babe, but I have an idea. You get him to fall in love with you, and we'll keep him safe."

John smiled, "Because it's always that easy."

The look in Blood's eyes was suddenly very frightening. "Always."

The doctor inwardly braced himself for the coming whirlwind. Blood had sunk her teeth in, and nothing was going to stop her now.

Sherlock spent the night staring into space. For once he wasn't thinking about the case, or boredom, he was thinking about his flatmate. Blood didn't count, something about her seemed transient, as if she were living with him only for a while. John felt… permanent.

The detective bit his lip pensively. It was time to stop denying everything. He lusted after John. But from the, admittedly little, he knew about feelings, Sherlock knew that this went way deeper. He couldn't imagine life without the good doctor, not that he wanted to. Just attempting to imagine that made thing hurt in strange ways. His chest got tight and his gut sank. It was plain WRONG to think of going back to before.

It was official. Sherlock Holmes loved John Watson. Oh he was going to hell for this.

**I am so going to hell for making you guys wait this long… sorry, but we've started the actual relationship, so… don't kill me yeah? I don't know where my muse went… but if you feel like doing my a huge favor take a jaunt over to DevilandPorcelein a joint account of mine and let me know what you think… you will find slash there of the Sherlock/John kind, I promise.**


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